Adventures in Piano

I confess. I'm the type of person that often sits there and worries about what people think of them. When I'm struggling in a class, I worry that people think I'm stupid. When I'm good in a class, I worry that the other students will think I'm a know it all. I worry when I say something stupid or don't say anything at all. I worry about what Jane Doe might have thought when I made that comment in church and if she'll go home and talk with her roommates about how much I babble on and on.

So when the parents of the ward mission leader (of my last ward in Florida on my mission) come up to me after the baptism and say "it was so nice of you to fill in on the piano", my first thought is that my playing was so bad, everyone thought I had to be filling in.

In fact I was filling in. I had played for another baptism there already. There was an assumption that since there were three sister missionaries serving in the ward, one of us had to be able to play the piano. They were right. It was me (but not very well, mind you!). "Please call a pianist," I had requested fervently for the January baptism we were coordinating.

"Yeah, no problem," he'd assured me. When we came that night, there was a crowd of people, but no one to play the piano. Inevitably I sat at the bench, worrying about how awful each jarring note must have been to all the poor listeners.

About a month later, my mission companions and I took an investigator to see another baptism. Once again, there was no one to play, so I sat through, hoping that people would let me and my companions into their homes after.

As my companions talked to Sister Nelson (who was getting baptized the next week), I talked to my ward mission leader. Well, it wasn't so much talking as begging. "Please, please, PLEASE remember to call someone to play the piano next Saturday," I asked, hands clasped and ready to get on my knees if need be.

"I will," he told me. I looked skeptical, he promised again. I made a mental note to call him the day before.

As we turned to the others, Sister Nelson had a glint in her eye. "I didn't know you could play the piano! Will you play for my baptism next week?"

My ward mission leader smirked. I hid a scowl. "Yes, of course," I said. I can only hope I didn't ruin anyone's favorite song.

When I started school again, I decided my dismal playing skills had to improve. I signed up for one credit of piano lessons. It turned out to be a great class to have. No midterm. No busy work. And an excuse to mess around on the piano for at least five hours a week. I have taken private lessons for two semesters now. This summer, the family I stayed with got sick of my playing, I'm sure. The kids locked up the piano at least, but I continued to practice whenever possible.

When I went home last Christmas (after semester 1 of lessons) I sat at the piano and practiced. Upstairs, my younger brother, who's loathe to compliment me in anything, went to ask my mom "Is that Marie playing? No way!"

That's right. It's amazing what some hard work, an expert teacher and some determination to never be caught off guard again can do to a girl! Though my playing was far from perfect and I still have a long way to go, I have to say that I'm grateful for the ability to improve on the talents we've been given and for the people in our lives who encourage, support, and sometimes even coerce us into useing them.

Marie

PS Thanks Annie for singing and enjoy the video :)

One Fishy Morning

It was a quiet Sunday morning. With church not starting until two, my roommates and I were all minding our own business, taking the morning easy. There was a slight thump near our door.



"Probably someone visiting next door," Liz said.



Being in a complex, you often hear the comings and goings of the next door neighbors. We continued to get ready for church. The blowdryers ran, the curling irons heated and sounds of running shower water filled the air.



A real knock at the door approached. "Come in!" several of us shouted simultaneously. The door creaked open.



"Why is there a dead fish on your doormat?"



We all went over to where a frozen dead fish, laying on its back, looked up at us. I could hear the "glug, glug, glug" of my stomach churning.



Freddie the fish chilled on the frontdoorstep until we were about to leave for church.



Melissa and Liz started rounding up the usual suspects. Lance was out of town and Levi claims he wasn't around during the hour of dropoff. We're still checking out the alibis.



For the person who put the dead fish there--whoever you are-- beware! I watch Bones, Law and Order, and Cake Boss. (So the last one doesn't have anything to do with this, but I do love seeing the elaborate cakes they make...)



If there's anything I've learned from Hollywood, it's that there is always evidence left behind. We will find you. If it's the last thing we do!

Veteran's Day

As I talked to my mom the other day, she expressed how appalled she was that Utah doesn't observe Veteran's Day across the board. The banks are still closed and we may not get our mail, but the rest of us continue on as if it were just an average day.

This could be because we have a fall break, or maybe it's a choice of Utah to observe Pioneer Day instead. Either way, we're missing out on the purpose of a vital holiday in our nation.

I challenge everyone to do something this Veteran's Day to make it a real holiday (especially my friends in Utah!).

My mom mentioned that she is writing to all the Soldiers she knows today.

Her class is leading the school in their annual drive for care packages. Soon they'll gather all the items students have brought and send hundreds and hundreds of packages to different units who are so faithfully serving in Iraq or Afghanistan.

One thought I had this morning was from a book I read this summer on WWII. An army man commented that even though they were paid no one would let them spend their money while on leave. Broadway shows were shockingly discounted for our troops, meals were free, and no one let them leave a shop without some token of appreciation.

As I went into the dining area, I noticed a Soldier getting his breakfast and thought about that quote I'd read. Before going in, I went up to the cashier and handed her some money. "I want to pay for the man in uniform," I told her, then went to get my drink.

I hope that we can get to the point that our military men and women are treated with the respect and honor they deserve! I can't thank them enough for the sacrifices they are making for me so that I can live in a country where I can freely choose who I want to be, where I want to go and what I want to do with my life.

Thank you again, and may you have God's protection.

Marie

Facebook: the Plague

Dear Facebook friends of generation TMI,

I don't care if you just got out of the shower.

Your choice of breakfast cereal holds no interest for me.

If I wanted to know how the Dodgers are doing, I would turn on ESPN.

It would be nice to know once in a while how you're doing, instead of just what you think about the lastest politics.

If you're my friend, I could probably tell you which character of Twilight you're most like better than some automated quiz a bored ninth grader created. (fyi Just because you take the quiz doesn't mean you need to post it.)

Overly sappy sentiments are better left in a message between you and your significant other instead of advertised on your status update.

Everyone can tell when you're saying something you'd be embarrassed to say to someone's face. If you wouldn't say it in public, don't post it.


I would like to know...

...About birthdays, anniversaries, and other momentous occasions you're having. It's nice to be able to celebrate in a little way for you!

...How you're doing! Isn't that the point of staying in touch? To see how each other are doing?

...Interesting articles or information you've found--in reasonable quantities.

I hate the feeling of hiding your updates on my wall, but less is more. And sometimes you're giving too much.

Rie

Picture Blog

I'm taking a lovely photography class that still uses the retro form of film! Of course this also means working in the dark room with chemicals and all sorts of other scientific knowledge that will help me take better pictures. (I'm just glad we have to know what the effect is and not the entire scientific reaction that occurs.)

We worked this week on manipulating the paper in the dark room. Not to bore you with the details, but the paper works like the film in the sense of light exposure = dark areas. So these are called "photograms", which are done by putting objects on the paper to block the light from darkening certain areas. Some items are more transparent, turning those spots grey instead. Here are the photograms that I did...

This was a "desk" concept. Several people used this same idea. This was an easy one, setting the timer and strategically placing the objects on the page to try and make it look cool. The real magic happened in the developer. If you've never seen a picture developed old school, I highly suggest finding your closest dark room and have a gander.

This was the one I was REALLY excited about. After the demo our professor did on Monday I went home and started planning. This one was a process. I made the tree and 3 hills with thick paper and an exact-o knife (including the cut out of the little creature there). I also used wax paper to make clouds, though I didn't like how they were turning out on the test runs, so I scrapped that. The snow is sugar in the raw that I got packets of from a local bookstore/cafe. This is the third attempt. The first was over exposed, the second underexposed. And as Goldilocks would say, this one was just right.

Education Week and Mt. Timp

When I got back to Utah, I noticed pamphlets of Education Week going around. The week was fun, full of motivation and a real spiritual boost. I figured it was time to start applying as many of the principles I learned as possible to make myself a better person.

One of the seminars I attended was about making college scholarship material that would be reusable on several applications and "wow" the panel/committee who decided who got money. One of the things the brother talked about was rephrasing to make accomplishments/roles sound impressive while keeping them honest and not puffed up.

For example, if you were a Laurel class president you could say:
"I was president of the local chapter of the largest organization in the United States for women ages sixteen to eighteen".

Sounds good huh?

I had been invited previous to that night to take a midnight hike up Mount Timpanogos-- one of the largest peaks in Utah-- and try to hit the summit to watch the sun rise. When I was sitting on my couch with a book in hand and a box of truffles in my lap this sounded plausible. Sure I could hike 18 miles, though I had never hiked that far and hadn't even done a short hike in about 6 years.

So off I went, thinking this would be so much fun. Let's just say this was a tall mountain. A very, very tall mountain. (Or as that brother would have put it, it was a high peak of a challenging distance.)
One of the guys in the group was very patient, coaching me along as everyone else went up ahead, to meet the other half of the group who had camped out for the night. I thought I was doing okay until we started to hit some rocky ground. "Okay, we have to go up this slide of rocks," he said, after scouting out where the trail picked up. As far as I was concerned it wasn't where it was supposed to be.

I started to implement the idea of rephrasing the comments. As I prepared myself for the steep climb up the loose rocks, I thought, "I will ascend the stony way."

Later, as we were getting closer to Emerald Lake and my feet felt like lead, my legs like rubber, I told myself, "I am unbalanced and at a loss for energy."

As everyone else went the last couple hours to the summit, I used someone's sleeping bag and slept in a little shed built by the glacier lake. Instead of worrying about the hard, concrete floor, I changed the content to "a quaint little one room cabin on the edge of an exotic body of water."
After a few hours of rest, I got a head start to where a couple of people were waiting for us to meet up with them. While giving me directions, one of the guys told me to walk along the edge of the cliff. I asked him politely if he would tell me to “take the path along the ledge,” instead.

Through this method of easing the terminology I was able to make it safely back to civilization with the knowledge that I probably shouldn’t have tried hiking Mt. Timp in the first place (what can I say… hindsight is 20/20).

Still, in the process I think I was able to prove that 1)what you learn can apply in all areas of your life and 2) It really does matter how you say things!

Cat and Dogs

No I didn't forget to pluralize the "cat" in the title. I have had a cat since my freshman year in high school. Her name is Sassy (though sometimes I call her Sassafrass... my brother used to call her the two year supply). My sister got a cat at about the same time along with the family dog we already had. Life was good for Sassy.

The dog eventually ran away and my sister's cat became feral. Sassy was promoted Queen of the castle and life was great.

Then came Cosby. I was on my mission when my mom went through empty nest syndrome and got herself a lhasa apso puppy. The first email from her after this purchase went something like this:

I got a new puppy. He's sooooooo cute! Your brother came home for a few weeks. My puppy is soooooooo cute!!! We hope you still have limbs after the mosquitos finish feasting on your flesh. I'll send pictures of the puppy soon because he's SOOOOOOOOOOOO CUTE!!!!!

I can't be held responsible for any abuse Queen Sassy edured, though she obviously held her own. The first thing I noticed when I came home was that my mom's puppy fought like a cat and steered clear of mine.

If this wasn't enough, my sister decided it would be fun to get a female Lhasa--which she named Belle-- and breed them at some point. Some point came unexpectedly this last December with a litter of 10 puppies. Though my mom cried at each parting, she consoled herself that she would get to keep one of them.

So we have three lhasa apsos in the house--Cosby, Belle, and Cooper. Cooper really likes Queen Sassy. He likes to think Sassy is his playmate. Sassy's lost her touch with training the beasts to leave her the heck alone. The following is a video of me trying to get her to fight back against the monster known as Cooper. I think she did a pretty good job:

Sassy Strikes Again

CATS RULE!

p.s. Because my sister pointed out it sounds like something not as nice, I'll clarify that I said "whop him sass"